Lost
by Tsarina Torment
Summary: Sometimes it doesn't matter if you don't understand.


**Disclaimer: I don't own **_Bleach_**.**

Ulquiorra was lost. Not in the sense that he didn't know where he was – he was in his chambers within the vast fortress of Las Noches – but because he was feeling things that he shouldn't be feeling. He didn't even know what these feelings were, just that they were new and he didn't like them. The trigger for all this was equally ambiguous. Was it one of his trips into the human realm, something his eye had recorded as he watched the insignificant trash get on with their lives? Or had something happened without his knowledge when he was with others in Hueco Mundo? Either way, he didn't know and he wasn't used to not knowing.

Sitting around was not helping to clear his head, nor was it unravelling this mystery, and so he stood from where he had been sitting on his bed, slipping Murciélago into his sash as he left his room. He let his feet guide him, and was surprised when he appeared in the training arena which was, miraculously, empty. This was not an area he frequented, feeling confident enough in his abilities to not spend his time training and wasting energy when there were so many useful things he could be doing instead. On the rare occasions that he did train, he left the fortress to practise with his releases.

However, these feelings that plagued him needed to go, and if his feet had guided him here then obviously his body felt that they needed to be released in a more dramatic fashion that he would normally use. That is, he could not ignore them, safe in the knowledge that they would leave of their own accord. He had tried that approach, and it had failed.

He raised a finger, pointing at a target at the far end of the arena as he allowed his reiatsu to swell and gather in a cero. The resulting explosion was far more satisfying than he had anticipated, and a second cero was charged before he even realised he was aiming at a new target. Unsurprisingly, said target was completely obliterated, flooding him with a strange sense of satisfaction. The feeling became addictive as he fired off yet more of his green ceros, ignoring everything around him as he revelled in the destruction he was causing. This feeling of exhilaration was not one he was used to, but it overwhelmed him as he destroyed target after target, barely noticing that the repeated use of cero was slowly draining him.

"Well, well, well. Not the person I expected to be the cause of all this," a voice drawled from behind him. He turned around suddenly, another cero on his fingertips, to see a familiar form leaning against the wall. Seeing that he had his attention, Grimmjow pushed off so that he was standing upright and walked over to him, a red light charging his in palm. "Mind if I cut in?"

Ulquiorra didn't respond as he watched the red light claim its own victims, before firing his own off at a target the other end of the arena. He couldn't believe that he hadn't noticed the sexta's presence until he'd spoken; that was not acceptable. He fired off more energy in frustration, before halting, realising that his actions were being controlled by something other than rationality.

"What's wrong?" Grimmjow asked him; turning, Ulquiorra noticed in trepidation that the blue haired Espada was far closer to him than he had realised.

"Nothing," he said shortly, blasting away parts of the wall again and again, not registering the slight haze in his vision, which he subconsciously put down to dust kicked up by so much annihilation. Arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he froze, the cero currently forming dying away to nothing.

"You should be more careful," Grimmjow murmured in his ear gently. "That's at least twenty I've seen you fire off in quick succession. I know you're the cuatra, but surely even you can't keep going like that much longer." Ulquiorra's response was to charge another one, which was quickly and shockingly negated by Grimmjow's hand. He hadn't even noticed that the charge in his ceros had been lessening.

"Stop it," Grimmjow scolded, still murmuring softly into his ear. Ulquiorra idly noticed that Grimmjow's chin was resting on his right shoulder and that the grip was primarily one of restraint. "I don't know how you're still upright," the sexta confessed quietly, the arms around him tightening. "If you're not careful you'll faint."

Something inside Ulquiorra made a decision, although what and why he didn't know, and he allowed his hand to droop, instead resting on top of Grimmjow's, as his body sagged minutely, making him feel as if the only thing keeping him upright was the sexta's firm body pressed against his back.

"What's wrong?" Grimmjow asked him quietly, his fingers beginning to trace soothing patterns on the tiny area of revealed skin between his riding-up jacket and the top of his hakama. "You never let yourself go like that."

"I don't know," Ulquiorra confessed, his eyes closing of their own accord. No amount of willpower could convince them to open again as his body lost more of its composure. By this point he was convinced that the only thing keeping him upright was Grimmjow. The consequences of too many ceros must have been kicking in, he realised, inwardly cursing himself for letting go of his inhibitions so much.

"You need to go back to your chambers," Grimmjow informed him, and he felt a gentle tugging around his stomach suggesting that the sexta was attempting to make him move. He intended to stay immobile, but the slight movement caused him to stumble. The arms tightened around him in response for a split second before Grimmjow moved. Suddenly he was being carried like a helpless human female as they entered a Sonído.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, he voice wavering ever so slightly. He hoped Grimmjow didn't hear that, but the sigh from above him suggested otherwise and he renewed his attempts to open his eyes to get a look at the blue haired Espada's face. It was to no avail; his eyelids felt as if they had been glued shut and then weighted with lead as an extra precaution. He stiffened as he was deposited on a bed and attempted to sit up, before realising that it wasn't just his eyelids that felt as if they'd been weighted down. His arms would not move, either, and nor would his legs. He felt completely powerless, which was not a comfortable position to be in, especially not with the bed sinking slightly as someone – Grimmjow if his Pesquisa was still accurate – sat next to him.

"What's wrong?" Grimmjow asked, not answering Ulquiorra's question. There was a heavy sigh. "This is your room, by the way," he added. Ulquiorra was thankful for the knowledge, but he refused to let Grimmjow see that.

"I don't know," he replied stubbornly. He would have claimed that it was nothing, but the sexta would not buy that after carrying him back to his rooms. He repeated himself, more quietly. "I don't know." He hoped that that would be that, and the sexta would leave him be.

"What do you know?" Grimmjow asked him instead of leaving. The tone was gentle, even coaxing, and Ulquiorra did not know how to react. It was such an odd question, and it made it sound as if Grimmjow actually cared.

"What does it matter?" he asked, not wanting to explain anything to the sexta if he could help it. Especially not his own lack of knowledge.

He was surprised when he received no answer. No verbal answer, anyway, as a hand came to rest on his forehead almost tenderly, smoothing away his hair. He had not taken Grimmjow as someone that would wait patiently for an answer, but this appeared to be what he needed as his mouth opened of its own accord, words tumbling out.

"I feel," he began, trying to take back the words but failing. "I feel more than I should. There are emotions in me and they won't go away." His voice carried his frustration, both at himself for revealing such a thing when he had just decided that he wouldn't, and at his lack of understanding. "I don't know what they are, or where they came from," he finished bitterly, his body tense as he prepared to be mocked.

Grimmjow did not mock him.

"How do they feel?" he asked instead. "Do they hurt?"

"Emotions can't hurt," Ulquiorra stated, before realising that yes, it did hurt. There was an ache inside him, although where he could not identify. "It aches," he confessed in a small voice, hoping that Grimmjow wouldn't hear him. No such luck.

Strong arms embraced him and he felt his body being pulled against Grimmjow. It felt as if he was being placed in the sexta's lap, but he still couldn't open his eyes to check as he involuntarily leaned against the revealed chest. Hands rubbed up and down his arm gently and his body relaxed against his will.

It was so warm within the sexta's embrace, making him aware of how cold his world was normally. To his surprise, he found that he liked it and his racing mind began to calm as he allowed his body to go limp.

He still didn't understand the feelings that had caused all this, but he found that he didn't care about that any more as he slipped into a dreamless sleep, experiencing the foreign sensation of feeling safe and protected as he did so.

**Inspired by **Aceidia** and her wonderful reincarnation fic **_**The Gabriel Project**_**. Go read it!**

**I wouldn't call Grimmjow out of character here, as such… more just exploring the lesser known parts of his personality. Ulquiorra I fear I have no such excuse.**

**Thanks for reading!  
Tsari**


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